


Shaping Futures

by fenfyre (Jace)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychotropic Drugs, Recovery, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 09:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace/pseuds/fenfyre
Summary: Recovering from a psychotic break is never easy but Marco knows he is doing better already. With time he might be doing fine. And if he finds a friend in that other young patient, the one with the broken nails and the bruises, well he certainly won't complain.





	Shaping Futures

**Author's Note:**

> For Jasmin
> 
> Also posted on my tumblr: [fenfyre](https://fenfyre.tumblr.com/)

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today”, Dr. Smith said, voice soft but eyes awake. He closed his leather bound notebook with a quiet clap that made Marco blink. “It was a productive session, you should be proud of yourself, Mr. Bodt.”  
Still caught up in the things they’d talked about for the last hour Marco nodded slowly, thoughts wafting through his head that he’d need a while to sort through and make sense of.  
“I’m...”, he mumbled. It was still exhausting to find words sometimes but he had to stop getting frustrated with himself, he knew that. He had to be patient. It was just so hard.  
“I’m not sure.”  
  
Dr. Smith nodded and gave him the smallest of smiles, still managing to convey endless understanding.  
“That’s why you’re here”, he said. “We’ll help you become sure again.”  
“That’s … that’s good, that’s … I need that”, Marco forced out, halting a moment before preparing himself to rise from the comfy armchair and say his goodbyes but then he remembered something. His eyes flit through the room, unsure whether to talk about this now but his psychiatrist was looking at him like he knew they weren’t quite finished yet.  
So Marco willed up some more courage.  
  
“Do you maybe have another minute?”  
Dr. Smith placed his notebook on the side table and leaned forward, one elbow on the armrest, hands folded in his lap.   
“Of course.”  
He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t press or insist on one quick question, not even when Marco took an embarrassingly long time to find the words and string them together, to work up the courage and ask what he wanted to.  
When minutes passed and no pressure came, Dr. Smith waiting so very patiently, Marco let out a breath.  
  
“About my … the pills.”  
The doctors and nurses in the hospital hadn’t liked him asking about his medication. They’d only ever scolded him and made him take it anyway, even if he felt horrible afterwards.   
Now he thought that maybe they’d known what they were doing and just wanted the best for him. But at the time he’d been scared and alone and angry and the way they’d handled his questions only ever made him feel worse.  
Dr. Smith just nodded and kept looking at him, listening and paying attention. Marco felt his nervous heartbeat calm a little bit.  
  
“I don’t … I feel strange. Everything’s … dull. And I get dizzy all the time and you said...” Marco took another deep breath. He’d also made bad memories trying to hold doctors to their word. “You said we could … reduce the dosage. Maybe.”  
Dr. Smith nodded and let out a deep hum.  
“I did say that. Let me check something.”   
He got up and stepped over to the desk, a heavy thing of oak with several binders strewn across it. Picking up one of them Dr. Smith thumbed through it until he stopped on one page, smoothing it with steady fingers.  
  
“Here. They gave you Haldol in the hospital, right?”  
Marco gave a non-commital hum, not sure whether the doctor was talking to him or if the question was rhetoric until he met the patient gaze of blue eyes waiting for an answer.  
“Yes”, he croaked, fingers twitching in his lap.  
“And now we have you on Thorazine, ten milligrams, four times a day. Have you been taking your medication regularly?”  
Marco nodded after another moment of silence.   
Dr. Smith made a satisfied noise before stepping over to his armchair again, settling down with the closed binder in his hands.  
  
“You see, Mr. Bodt, the reason why we’re still medicating you is because we don’t want you to relapse. We’ve only been treating you for a few weeks and while I’m confident you’ll recover quickly, we can’t risk reducing the dosage yet. At this point it might still be possible for you to develop another psychosis.”  
“I don’t want that”, Marco forced out. No matter how weird the side effects of the drugs made him feel, he’d take those over ominous voices and delusions any day.   
“Neither do we”, Dr. Smith agreed with a solemn nod. “But as we’re making progress with your therapy we will be able to reduce the dosage to a level that feels more comfortable to you while still protecting you from relapsing. You have my word.”  
  
There was a pause while Marco considered the words, looking at his psychiatrist who was calmly looking back at him.  
“Thank you”, Marco said at last and Dr. Smith gave him another smile. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be taken seriously.  
“Of course. Should you have any other questions please don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m here to help you.” Those words alone were enough to make a knot that he hadn’t even been aware of before burst open in Marco’s belly. It made breathing a little less painful.  
“Now”, Dr. Smith continued, his eyes gliding down to Marco’s hands. “Have you noticed you’re scratching your arm again?”

  
~

  
When Marco left Dr. Smith’s office another twenty minutes later Jean was already waiting for him, arms crossed and head tipped back against the white wall. He blinked his eyes open as Marco closed the door behind himself.  
“That was a long one”, he commented and pushed away from the wall.  
“Yeah. Sorry.”  
But Jean just shook his head and shrugged at the apology, falling into step next to Marco as they headed down the corridor and towards the common room.   
“’s fine, don’t worry.”  
  
They’d both had their share of jaded, over-worked doctors and therapists who hadn’t given a damn about them beyond drug prescriptions and the fifty minutes of scheduled therapy each week, sometimes not even that. But since the release from their respective hospitals and the start of their ambulant therapy at Survey’s Psychiatric Outpatient Clinic things were starting to look better.   
It was easy to wait for a while when a doctor actually caring and listening had been a far away dream for months on end.   
Begrudging each other that kind of luxury was the last thing on their minds and Marco found himself grateful once more for the ease with which Jean handled these situations.  
  
This new friendship was no doubt the best thing that had come out of the darkest chapter of his life so far. Jean was easygoing and fun and he just got Marco the way nobody else seemed to at the moment.  
Of course his family was trying hard to love and support him, especially his mother. But no matter how much research they did and how many sessions with Dr. Smith they sat in on, how much they learned about symptoms and warning signs and drugs and communication, they could never know what it truly felt like.   
This huge dark wall had come between them and even though Marco was as determined as he’d ever been to overcome it, he just wasn’t there yet. It would take many more weeks, probably months, of hard work before he would be.  
  
With Jean there was no wall.   
He might not have experienced a psychotic breakdown the way Marco had.   
But he knew what it was like to be locked away in a closed ward, all autonomy and dignity stripped away. He knew what it was like to be treated like a child just because he was sick until he started to feel like one, alone and confused and scared, just wanting to go home and hug his mother, sleep in his own bed again.

Even though that chapter of their journey was behind them, the sense memory of rough hospital sheets and screams echoing down deserted hallways at night was still stuck deep in their bones, making them experience every free breath they took with a whole new clarity and gratitude.   
Until even waiting almost half an hour for a friend still stuck in a therapy session became a privilege, a reason to celebrate.  
  
They had almost reached the common room, a bright, colourfully decorated and skilfully sectioned area with wide panorama windows overlooking the city park, when Marco paused. There were already people in the room, he could hear them talking and playing games.   
Nothing too intense or annoying, he liked most of the other patients and enjoyed talking to them but right now, after his intense session, he wasn’t sure he could tolerate too much noise.  
  
“I’m...”, he began, noting how Jean immediately paused and turned to him, paying careful attention. “Can we not…?”  
A quick glance down at his watch and Jean shrugged.  
“Still got over an hour until lunch. We could go for a walk or something if you need it quiet. Or do you wanna be alone?”  
  
Marco still couldn’t believe how little time it had taken them to get this attuned to another.   
Jean knew that more often than not Marco needed a while to sort his thoughts after a session, preferably in silence. Too many things happening at once still made him feel anxious and overwhelmed.

Jean on the other hand liked to talk after therapy. He needed to vent after intense sessions or just babble about what they’d worked on that day. Sometimes all he needed was some small talk to feel like himself again and Marco was always happy to help when it didn’t interfere with his own treatments.   
  
Marco smiled.  
“No”, he said. “No, let’s go for a walk.”  
  
They let one of the nurses know about their plan when they passed the reception. She just reminded them to be back for lunch before smiling and wishing them a nice time.  
And no matter how often Marco had already walked through the glass doors and into the staircase, it still gave him a little kick to be able to leave on his own.  
His smile widened.

  
~

  
Jean almost died six months ago.  
There was no other way to put it, no possibility left to romanticise his illness after that point.   
It turned out that starving himself for years had indeed more disadvantages than perks. Like his lungs failing on him, just giving out, too weak to keep him breathing any longer.   
Almost suffocating alone in his tiny student apartment as well as the following hospitalization had finally managed to knock some sense into him, a feat his mother and friends had never accomplished.   
  
The doctors and nurses at Saint Sina’s dragged him kicking and screaming to what was considered only barely underweight before releasing him into the capable hands of Dr. Ral and her colleagues at Survey’s.   
Coming here every day for different treatments, eating meals with the other patients and getting some structure and routine back into his life helped immensely with the transition, the path to recovery.   
  
And of course there was Marco.  
Marco who’d started therapy a few weeks after Jean, who’d arrived at the clinic looking dazed and ashamed, taking a while to warm up to the other patients but slowly starting to react to Jean’s pestering.  
Eventually he’d told Jean his story.   
Told Jean about the voices threatening to make him hurt his family if he didn’t do the craziest things to keep them at bay, about the looming shadows he saw at all times of day and night. About the way his thoughts had dissolved until he didn’t even feel like a person anymore, his sense of self and purpose dripping through his fingers.  
  
He’d lost days on end, maybe weeks, and when he’d come to again he’d been institutionalized. Another few weeks later and they released him into the same program they had Jean, to help him adjust and get more stable, to continue to support him until he could fully return back to his life.  
Marco had, like Jean, been sceptic at first, after everything he’d lived through in the hospital. But they were both in a better place now and a lot of the credit for that development went to the doctors, nurses and therapists at Survey’s.   
  
“I asked Dr. Smith about the pills today”, Marco said after a long stretch of silence, when they’d already made it halfway around the lake, which was actually more of a big pond.  
“And?” Jean bend down to pick up a stone, rubbing away some dirt from it’s smooth surface before turning towards the lake and trying to make it skip. It plopped into the water rather unceremoniously instead.  
“He said he can’t give me a lower dose right now because … I might still relapse...”  
Jean grimaced. Relapsing back into what Marco went through didn’t sound too appealing, even though not as immediately life-threatening as a relapse would be for him.   
  
“But … he said we can try in a few weeks. When I’m more stable.”  
Bending down to pick up another rock and failing again to make it skip across the lake Jean let out a thoughtful hum.  
“You believe him?”  
“Yes.” The answer was immediate, honest and trustful. Something just weeks ago Jean would have never expected to hear from Marco talking about his psychiatrist. “I _really_ don’t want another breakdown. Seems like … the side effects are the lesser evil, right?  At least for now...”  
  
Jean’s approving hum turned a little enervated when he also failed the third skip, his rock drawing big ripples across the water’s surface.  
“Your angle is wrong”, Marco mumbled and when Jean looked up his friend was standing much closer, a flat rock tucked between his fingers, dark eyes on the lake.   
  
“Huh?”  
“You need to go lower”, Marco explained, bending his knees a bit as he swung his arm back. “Like this.” With that he threw the rock, making it skip two, three, four times, before it finally sank.   
“Oh wow”, Jean grumbled but quickly picked up another stone. “You’re schooling me, Bodt.”  
Marco gave a nonchalant shrug and adjusted Jean’s grip on the stone, nudging him to bend his knees a little.  
“No, I’m teaching you”, he smiled and for a second or two Jean was blinded. “You need to hit the water at a twenty degree angle.”  
“Do I...” Jean cleared his throat, very aware of the way Marco’s hand was grasping his fingers, gently pulling his arm back. “Do I look like a mathematician to you?”  
  
There was a chuckle, low and amused, and Jean felt his mouth run dry. He hadn’t heard Marco laugh before and even though this wasn’t exactly the full on belly laugh he wanted to get out of his friend one day soon, it was something. Progress. And god, was it beautiful.   
“Try this. Keep it low.”  
Marco’s hand disappeared and Jean took a shuddery breath before throwing his stone again. This time he actually got it to skip once before it sank.  
“Good job!”, Marco smiled and something in Jean wanted to preen under the praise. Instead he searched the ground for another rock.

  
~

  
“Oh, there’s something I wanna ask you”, Jean said after another stretch of silence. They were seated on a wooden bench a ways down the path, still overlooking the peaceful lake.  
“Sure”, Marco hummed and turned to him. He seemed a lot more awake and sorted than he had earlier after his session, his gaze attentive.   
Jean licked his lip and looked out across the lake again.  
  
“I’m cooking with Dr. Ral on Thursday. It’s part of my therapy, relearning how to put a meal together, normal portion sizes, stuff like that...”  
Jean hadn’t eaten a warm meal for almost two years before his stay at the hospital and then he’d only gotten hospital food. Now at Survey’s Clinic they served a warm lunch every day except for the weekends during which he only recently started to cook for himself again as he made progress with Dr. Ral.   
  
“But uh … she also said it’s about getting more comfortable again. Around food and with preparing it. So I thought … having a friend there might make it more fun. Normalize it. And she said there isn’t anything speaking against it right now, so … I thought maybe you wanna come?”  
When Jean had finished his little speech and looked over at Marco again he was met with a bashful smile that sent his heart into an overly excited rhythm.  
“Yes”, Marco nodded, “I think I’d like that.”

  
~

  
Most of the meals for the patients were delivered by a catering service but the clinic still had a little kitchen where they could help themselves to snacks during the day. Sometimes people even got into the mood to bake or prepare other treats for everyone and even though Jean wasn’t quite ready to start eating sweets again he always appreciated the sentiment.  
Today Dr. Ral had blocked the kitchen for the duration of their session.  
She was already there when he entered the small room, smiling at him from the kitchen table she was seated at.  
  
“Hello Mr. Kirschtein, it’s nice to see you today!”  
He’d found her positivity and honest cheer off-putting at first, convinced it was some kind of facade and wishing she’d stop.   
But the longer he worked with her the more he understood just how real his therapist was with him and that didn’t just include her happy nature but also everything else. She was honest to a fault, sometimes painfully so. She told him when he was being an idiot or unreasonable or making excuses, didn’t take his snark and called him out on his bullshit.   
And even though that made for some really uncomfortable sessions Jean knew he’d hit the jackpot with her, that Dr. Ral’s brutal honesty was just what he needed to get his head out of his ass and that he wouldn’t be as far on his road to recovery without her enthusiastic support.  
  
“Hey doc”, he smiled back and slid onto an empty chair across from her. She closed the cookbook she’d been thumbing through with a dull noise.  
“Is Mr. Bodt joining us today?”, she asked and Jean tried hard to ignore that very subtle tone in her voice. He supposed that she suspected things. It was literally her job to know people and she’d gotten to know Jean very well during the last months. But up until now she hadn’t said anything about his budding but very obvious crush and he’d gladly avoid that kind of conversation for as long as he could. Which probably wouldn’t be much longer, considering that she’d see them together for more than a few minutes today.  
  
“Yes”, he nodded. “He’ll come by after he’s done with Nanaba if that’s okay?”  
The head nurse had called Marco for a check-up shortly before the start of the session but he’d promised to meet them in the kitchen. That was fine though, Jean was a big boy, he didn’t _need_ Marco to hold his hand. It would just be more fun with him around, that was all. Everything was more fun with Marco around.  
“Of course it’s okay, I’m glad you asked him!”  
  
Right, something about cooking and eating having a big social component and that isolating himself during meals was reducing his social interactions.   
They’d talked about that at length but that wasn’t really the reason Jean had wanted to ask Marco. He was pretty sure again that Dr. Ral knew but didn’t care enough to question his progress.  
  
“Before we start, could you rate your tension for me, please?”, Dr. Ral asked him, her hands folding and coming to rest on top of the cookbook, calm brown eyes studying him the way she tended to. Jean took a moment to contemplate. His heart was fluttering a little, a nervous shudder in the pit of his stomach.  
“It’s a … thirty. Thirty-five, maybe”, he said after a while and his therapist nodded.  
“And why do you think you’re tense?”, she asked. Jean pursed his lips, shrugged. Tried to crack a joke.  
“Afraid you’ll find out I didn’t eat ‘cause I can’t cook for shit.”   
  
As expected Dr. Ral was utterly unimpressed and instead kept looking at him, not saying anything until he sighed after a long, awkward pause, head tipping forward.  
“I spent several years hating food to the point that even touching it made me scared I’d get fat. So … not a fun time.”  
“Very good”, she hummed and her smile was back. “We’ll take our first steps to making it a fun time again today. Any thoughts, questions? Concerns?”  
Jean took a breath, thinking about his answer for another minute before he shook his head. They’d talked about this at length during their last few sessions, had prepared for today and went over the reasons and the exact procedure until Jean had felt completely comfortable in agreeing to meet in the kitchen today.   
  
“I think I’m good.”  
“Perfect!”, Dr. Ral smiled before sliding the cookbook over to him. A photograph of an abundantly set dinner table decorated the cover. “I marked three recipes we could do with what we have here in the kitchen. Pick whichever you like best and we can get started.”

  
~

  
They had just finished washing the vegetables and were about to start cutting them when Marco entered the kitchen. He wore a shy smile but seemed mostly fine, if a little pale.  
“Hi, uh … sorry. For interrupting”, he stammered, having not quite arrived yet. He’d need another moment or two to settle into the scene but thankfully Dr. Ral was already smiling at him.  
“No need to apologize, Mr. Bodt. We’re glad you could make it! You can grab a cutting board and a knife to help us.”  
  
Marco’s face grew even paler and he reached out with one hand to lean on the counter, steadying himself.  
“I’d … rather not right now. If that’s okay?”  
Dr. Ral took a breath but didn’t say anything, then nodded.  
“Yes, of course. Are you alright?”  
“Just dizzy. It’s the pills. I just … don’t want to handle a knife at the moment.”  
If Jean hadn’t known Marco as well as he did he might have doubted the words. But he’d seen his friend like this a few times already and wasn’t really concerned. It would stop in about ten minutes.  
  
“Okay”, he nodded and shot Marco a smile that got returned weakly. “You can just watch for now?” It took another moment for Marco to nod, then he pulled up a chair and let himself plop onto it with a soft sigh.   
The noise was enough to make Jean want to hug his friend but he was also very aware of Dr. Ral’s attentive gaze so he turned back to his cutting board instead. A handful of already peeled carrots was stacked on the side of it.   
  
“So”, Dr. Ral said, turning back to him. “What do we do now?”  
Jean hummed and picked up a carrot, inspecting it.  
“I...” He licked his lips, placing the carrot back onto his cutting board. “I don’t know.”  
“You don’t know?” There was no ridicule in her voice, only mild curiosity and Jean shrugged.   
“They’re peeled weirdly. I don’t wanna use them.”  
“How would you have peeled them?”, Dr. Ral asked, leaning her hip against the edge of the counter as she regarded Jean.  
  
“I’d have … chopped off more. And then I usually cut them in half, like this...” He used his knife to slice open the carrot. “Now I’d … carve out the stem thing in the middle...” Before he could demonstrate that as well Dr. Ral reached out and stopped him, cupping his hand with her own cool palm for a moment before pulling back.  
“That’s enough. Marco, how do you prepare carrots?”  
Marco looked up from where he’d been watching the movements of Jean’s hands to meet the therapist’s eyes.   
“I … don’t know?”, he mumbled. “I just … peel them like that and cut them up?”  
“No removing the stem part?”  
“No...”  
  
“So Jean, why do you cut out the stem?”   
Jean huffed, he could feel his heartbeat pick up steadily, nervousness flaring up, but this was exactly what they’d talked about. That he’d likely developed a lot of unusual or even unhealthy habits when handling food and that he’d have to unlearn a lot of them if he wanted to build the right attitude towards eating again.   
“I thought … the less carrot there is, the less calories I have to eat. I know it’s irrational.”  
  
“Very good”, Dr. Ral nodded. “Rate your tension, please?”  
“Sixty.” He didn’t even have to think about it.   
His eyes flicked over to Marco who watched the whole scene with interest but Jean was relieved to not find a single speck of confusion or amusement or even disdain in his eyes. He seemed to be honestly curious about how Jean perceived the world and what was going on. This was probably also a welcome distraction from the side effects he was still experiencing.   
  
“Alright. Do you think we can try skipping that step and go straight to cutting them?”  
Jean took a deep breath, squinting down at the carrot like it had personally offended him. Something in his stomach twisted at the thought of abandoning his comforting little ritual but that’s why he was here, why Dr. Ral had wanted to do a session like this. So Jean swallowed and nodded.  
“Yes”, he mumbled and his therapist smiled at him.  
“Go ahead then.”  
  
They repeated the same process with the broccoli and cauliflower when he automatically went to remove the stems of both only to be stopped by Dr. Ral. On one level he knew he was about to waste perfectly fine parts of the vegetables that could be eaten without problems. He just didn’t want to be the one to eat them.  
When the vegetables were steaming on the stove and they moved on to set up the risotto Marco eventually joined them. He bravely cut up onions and minced garlic, only crying like a baby for about half the time.   
  
Somewhere along the way Marco put on some music on his phone, the soft notes of an acoustic guitar helping Jean relax more and more while they worked around another. His heartbeat slowed down, every careful movement causing him less and less nausea.   
He knew it wasn’t just Marco. Knew that his body was slowly adapting to the stressful situation and his averse reaction was reclining. Habituation.   
Dr. Ral had taught him all about it and this was far from the first exercise they’d done. But no matter how long he’d stared at himself in the mirror or repressed the urge to go weigh himself, he’d never reached a point where he’d felt quite as comfortable as he did with Marco humming along to the music, working right next to him.  
  
As the rice was set to boil Dr. Ral removed the salmon from the fridge, having given it lots of time to soak up the herbal marinade they’d prepared in the very beginning.  
Jean lined the baking dish with aluminium foil while Marco coated the salmon fillets with another layer of marinade before starting to carefully transfer them to the prepared dish. The first few pieces were fine but then a fillet slipped from between the spoons Marco was using and fell back into the bowl with a wet splash. Thick oily droplets of marinade sprayed across the counter.  
  
“Ah, sorry...”, Marco mumbled and reached for paper towels to wipe up the mess, cheeks flushing light pink with embarrassment but Jean only shrugged.  
“S’fine.”  
Marco finished cleaning the counter, then spotted his phone, propped up against the coffee machine and decorated with droplets of marinade as well.  
That’s when it happened.  
Instead of using the paper towels already balled up in his hand Marco reached for the phone, squinted at it and then stuck out his tongue to lick the screen.  
  
Jean grimaced, instinctively pulling back from his friend.  
“Did you … did you just lick marinade from your phone?” Marco blinked at him, phone clutched between his fingers, the sweet voice of a singer still chirping from the crappy speakers.  
“Uh … yes?”  
“Okay first of all … that’s disgusting, there’s like tons of germs on your screen. And … do you know how many calories were in there? That stuff is like … 98 percent olive oil.”  
  
At first it looked like Marco wanted to respond, sucking in a breath through parted lips.   
But then he locked eyes with Jean, gaze unusually intense as he lifted the phone and slowly, insistently, dragged his tongue across the dark screen.  
Jean let out a disgusted noise, skin crawling from the sight alone but then again … he also felt heat creep into his cheeks, electricity zapping down his spine, as he watched Marco’s pink, wet tongue slide out, dark eyes drilling into his with hot focus.  
  
He knew it wasn’t like that, knew Marco was only teasing him, not trying to look as outrageously sexy as he did but the noise Jean made broke off with a stifled whimper and he had to turn away.  
“I need a moment”, he forced out before leaving the kitchen because damn, his dick was actually stirring and this was _not_ the time! He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten an inappropriate boner but during a therapy session had to be some kind of record for awkwardness.  
Thankfully he made it to the bathroom without anyone seeing him.

~

“What was … did I do something wrong? I … I shouldn’t have done that. That was … that was horrible...”, Marco stuttered, staring at the door through which Jean had positively fled. He’d never seen his friend like that, disgust turning into blind panic. He didn’t like watching it one bit.  
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong”, Dr. Ral smiled, stepping up to him. She finished transferring the salmon to the baking dish and placed it in the pre-heated oven before turning to Marco.  
  
“It’s just his compulsions, his rituals. Mr. Kirschtein has rather specific ideas how food is to be handled and eaten right now and he can get upset if his rules aren’t followed. We’re working on that.”  
Marco swallowed. That eased his guilt, if only somewhat. Gaze trailing down onto his hands he realized he was still clutching his phone and the wad of dirty paper towels and moved to throw them into the trash before turning off the music and pocketing his phone.   
  
“I still shouldn’t have done that. Teased him.” For an indiscernible reason Dr. Ral’s lips twitched into a cheeky smirk for just a second before she went back to her smile.  
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Bodt. He’s not a delicate flower, you don’t have to treat him like one. And you sure don’t have to follow his irrational ideas. He needs to unlearn his unhealthy habits, not be catered to”, she went on, grabbing a spoon to stir the rice and pouring in some more of the stock they’d used.  
“It’s good for him to see people lick up sauce or eat something without pedantically measuring every ounce and drop.”  
  
Marco nodded and mumbled a weak “Thanks, Dr. Ral...”.   
He still suspected there was more to it. If Jean only had a problem with the way Marco had licked up the marinade there was no reason for him to panic as badly as he had. Marco had seen Jean disgusted at other patients’ eating habits before but his friend had never fled a situation like that.   
Though he also knew that going to talk to Jean now wouldn’t accomplish anything, that he’d have to wait for him to calm down and come back on his own terms.   
So Marco sighed and plugged the sink, turning on the hot water before piling their used kitchen utensils together.   
He’d get to the bottom of this another time. For now Marco pushed his worries about what he’d done wrong to make Jean panic to the back of his mind and started making himself useful instead.


End file.
